


When the Winds Begin to Sing

by ssleif



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Winter At Kaer Morhen, Witchersexual Jaskier | Dandelion, but I know some folk don't really dig any kind of potentially coercive sex magic, but they adress it well before it gets Real Coercisve, creature!Jaskier, dubcon, i don't personally think it counts, suuuuuuuper light dubcon, technically this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:40:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28604610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssleif/pseuds/ssleif
Summary: Geralt invites Jaskier back to Kaer Morhen. It's the longest Jaskier has gone without partnered sex in... possibly ever? This turns out to be a problem.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 30
Kudos: 517
Collections: The Witcher Secret Santa 2020





	When the Winds Begin to Sing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ivillpunchyouinthethroat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivillpunchyouinthethroat/gifts).



> Hello!!!!!! This is a holiday gift for Ivilpunchyouinthethroat and was posted like a week late. *monkey putting hands over eyes* Sorry for the Delay!!!
> 
> I focused on Jaskier Being Something, and pining and angst, and nsfw, and I hope this scratches the itch for you!
> 
> (also, thank you wolfie for being a cheerleader and idea bouncee and beta. You are a trooper and you keep my fanciful punctuation in line. <3333)

__

-

_“The snow, it melts the soonest when… the winds begin to sing,”_ Jaskier lilted, holding the vibrato on the last note as long as he could. The line had come to him a few hours prior, as he and Geralt were setting out from town, horses laden with supplies to winter at Kaer Morhen.

At the foot of the mountains, a breeze had wended its cold way down to them, out of the high reaches where the keep perched, Jaskier fancied, and the line had come, tune and all, straight out of that crisp clear invitation.

The rest of the verse, or song, was slow to come, but anytime he faltered, that single line was easy to return to, even as the road grew more treacherous.

_“...Hum dumpty dum and da da when the frosts are setting in...”_

What preceded frost? Warmth, surely. Affection, maybe. It could be a song about love. Not a cheerful one, but maybe one about the cooling of love, the torturous twistings of love that doesn’t align?

_“And when a woman tells me hmm... and hmm hmm dum-ty …”_

“Focus more on your horse, and less on your dalliances.”

Geralt’s voice carried easily in the thin air.

“Hmf,” Jaskier replied. For Geralt’s information, he was overdue a dalliance or two. Knowing (pleased) that he was to spend this winter with his ~~ass of a~~ dear friend, far from civilization, Jaskier had been careful to limit his assignations to paid encounters only, well in advance. It wouldn’t do to start something he couldn’t get out of easily, and hurt someone with his silence, or come down the mountain in the spring to find angry relatives awaiting their return.

Not that he had anything against the oldest profession, but one did tend to cling and cuddle less, out of courtesy, when one knew it was a service. And he’d always been tactile.

_“Before we part, I hmm da dumm…”_

Missed connections. Hmm. Anger? Unrequitedness? If he _had_ enjoyed a last, ill-fated tryst… oh, and she _hadn't_ …

_“When a woman tells me that my face she’ll soon forget… Before we part, I…_ wage a… mark? _Hmm hmm-ty dum dum…_ ” Mark had nice assonance with Part, but maybe less of the Nilfgaard. Maybe keep it to Redania… _“Before we part… I’ll wage a crown…”_

“Jaskier. In earnest, I need you to pay attention, or you’re going back to town. Pegasus will not be able to keep his feet if you do not follow exactly.”

Chagrined, Jask stowed his lute on his back again, turning his attention towards the path before them.

And the breeze picked up again, and he hummed, absent mindedly, watching the shape of Geralt’s dark shoulders in front of him, and the figure his friend cut, in all this white …

“Hmm ta hmm, _I’ll wage a crown, I’m fain to follow him yet...”_

-

-

Jaskier had been looking forward to wintering with Geralt. Not just because he would have the opportunity to spend long, long hours of time with the man uninterrupted by monsters, but he figured the long dark hours of winter, with no classes to teach, and few monsters to run from, no need to sing for his supper… would be great for his productivity. (He tried not to look at how warm and squishy it made him inside, the thought of the trust Geralt was showing in him with this, not to mention the admission that Gerlat _enjoyed_ his _company_ enough to willingly trap himself in an ancient and crumbling old keep for several months with Jaskier.) (Also he sang because he loved it, and he was happy to take his turn at entertaining their company around the hearth in the evening.)

Their company…

This bubble of joy lasted three weeks.

At first, Jaskier didn’t think anything of it. He was a healthy young human with, admittedly a _strong_ appetite for the pleasures of the flesh, but he had plenty of strong appetites, and it wasn’t like he was unused to, ah, taking the problem in hand himself, as it were.

Yet.

There was this… _wanting_.

He was staying in a different room, near to Geralt’s, in a tower far away from the other witchers. Jaskier had known about the sacking of Kaer Morhen, but it was one thing to hear the man say it, quietly, as dispassionately as he could around a fire deep in the woods one night, and quite another to see it in rubble and empty spaces where clearly once there had been a thriving population.

(A thriving population of pseudo-kidnappers and tortured children, and tortured children who became pseudo-kidnappers, but again, another thing, and that did not take away from the massive loss of life and trauma that must have been for these few last survivors.)

He was glad to be away from the others, and unexpectedly glad in this case, because he knew how good witcher hearing was. Geralt, at least, was quite used to hearing Jaskier seeking his own pleasure, solo or partnered, and Jaskier had long since gotten over any shame he had about that. It was nice, though, not to have to inflict that on the other witchers as well.

The other witchers.

Vesemir… Jaskier thought he would not have been out of place at Oxenfurt college, honestly, if the world had been different. The man was a warrior, sure, but he was so much more than that. Jaskier found in him a mind and a joy in learning things, in reading, in enjoying the world that would not have been out of place at all in a scholar of history, or the arts even, now respected and venerable enough to have permanent rooms at the college, a table that was _his_ table, and no end of young faculty and students eager for a moment of his time and wisdom.

Lambert was… Lambert was an ass, but the best kind, the kind that would eviscerate your enemies, and defend you utterly, if you were his friend, and then turn and give you chaff right back. Jaskier thought there was a good chance they could become fast friends, someday. Certainly, Lambert was the most vocally appreciative, after a fair amount of alcohol, of Jaskier’s bawdier repertoire. He had taken almost immediately to playing in the evenings after they all ate, as they sat around a blazing hearth, sometimes just to himself, whatever he was working on, sometimes taking requests.

Eskel was quiet, at first, as quiet as Geralt had been when they first met. Geralt had said a little about the other witchers over the years, and one thing he had said about Eskel was that the man had been nearly his twin, once, when they were boys together, before the trials and the path bleached Geralt’s hair, and scarred Eskel’s face, and left them both so changed. But as Eskel began opening up, Jaskier found a kindness, a tranquility, and peaceful core he did not expect from the man he also knew to have the largest, uh, bodycount across species. In and out of the bedroom.

He genuinely liked these men, as he’d expected he would, which made the _other_ thing all the more difficult.

They were _painfully_ attractive.

Like, Geralt was preternaturally beautiful. Jaskier knew that, knew it from day one, and his skill and… and _lethality_ genuinely only made him more attractive in Jaskier’s eyes, initially as a subject for stories, whom he wouldn’t mind rolling in the hay with, should the man’s predilections lean that way... and then later (when he knew the man's habits, and joys, and dare he say _soul_ , and knew down to his bones that as a partner, for whatever definition of partner Geralt was comfortable with.

So, he’d expected to aesthetically appreciate these men, despite their scars and defenses (and a little bit because of them— he genuinely did enjoy the scars to a certain degree.)

He, foolishly, had _not_ expected to be so… so fucking _into_ them.

On day three, he had caught sight of Eskel training? Meditating? Running forms by himself in the courtyard, grace and tightly controlled strength flowing from one pattern to another, and Jaskier couldn’t help but immediately fantasize about what that would be like, focused on him. He ruthlessly quashed the thought as soon as it stuck its traitorous little head up… but it kept coming back, over and over, a vicious thirsty little cycle.

So he changed his routine, he headed for the library earlier (What a library!! What a miracle that so much of it had survived! And Geralt had been apologetic to not have more), he stopped for lunch later, and he overall tried to only be passing within sight of the courtyard when he was sure, for instance, that Eskel would be off tending the goats. (Though one time, he had caught Eskel _playing_ with the goats, with a little one perched up on his knee as he held it raised, and the _adorableness_ of the interaction had almost overridden Jaskier’s _other_ notions.)

That, however, only left him vulnerable to catching sight of _Lambert_ practicing, beating the absolute _shit_ out of practice dummies, with fist, knives, and swords, rebuilding the poor tool, and going another three rounds. The sight of those powerful arms, and strong hands, and the focused ferocity had him chubbing up in his pants in the middle of the hall, and hastily ducking out of sight, trying to walk it off.

The second time it happened, he ended up needing to find some snow.

The third time… he gave in.

Okay. Okay, so, it wasn’t _that_ bad. Yes, alright, he might be taking himself in hand to the thought of Geralt’s, well, _brothers_ , but… okay maybe there wasn’t a but. (It felt extra inappropriate to be thinking that way about Vesemir as well, but, damn him, Jaskier had had more than a few thoughts that way as well.)

And anyway, it wasn’t fair, because it wasn’t even like his sudden and inescapable lust for _all the family Geralt had left in the world_ had _replaced_ his normal baseline of always being hot for Geralt.

He was still, possibly more than ever, _powerfully_ attracted to Geralt. Just, overwhelmingly so.

By week four, he was actually starting to consider skipping the evening get-togethers, for fear the smell of his want would make someone uncomfortable. (And he Fucking Knew Geralt at least, could smell it, even if the man himself was normally circumspect and honestly kind enough not to say anything.) Pre-dinner washes turned into pre-dinner jerking off and then washing, and even that was beginning to wear thin.

Jaskier went from taking care of himself once a day, usually in the evenings before sleep, to twice a day, starting the morning off as well, to adding a quickie before dinner, to adding a midmorning break.

He had not been this hot for it since… he almost couldn’t remember. Maybe in his teen years? When he was first learning what the body could do, but hadn’t yet begun sharing the experience with anyone?

Once he was active on that field, he had never really stopped, usually not going more than a few weeks on the outside without a willing partner. And it had been… more than a month, now.

But. But what else could he do? He _wouldn't_ betray hospitality that way, not Geralt’s trust and goodwill, not their friendship of more than a decade, by sleeping around with Geralt’s family while in Geralt’s home.

Geralt had never been interested in what Jaskier was offering, as far as he could tell, and certainly that didn’t seem likely to change now.

But it shouldn’t matter! Jaskier should be able to control himself better than this! He should be able to... to manage his own affairs! It’s not like anyone had ever /died/ of being too lustful, right?

(That was a thought, might make for a nice musical ribaldry.)

But the hunger grew, and grew. Jaskier began to feel trapped, began to feel hunted, began to feel deprived of something, like food, like oxygen.

He could find no solace, not in his own hand, no in his ablutions, not in his writing, and the piece he was working on stagnated as he hit a block, even while insisting to the others that his avoidance of his companions was down to being caught up in his work.

Finally, there came a day when he was afraid to leave his room at all, for fear he wouldn’t be able to control himself. Not that he would… would _attack_ anyone, probably, or that they wouldn’t be able to defend themselves if he did, but at least that a single look, or gods forbid a touch on the arm or should, would send him into paroxysms of lust.

And he knew. This was not normal. Something had to be wrong.

He had to talk to Geralt.

He was terrified to do it, terrified to find the line that was Too Much, this time, that would break them, either because Geralt was tired of dealing with him, or because the man pitied him his futile feelings. He was terrified to be that vulnerable and humbled, even, maybe especially in front of Geralt.

But if he had any hope… no. He had no hope but this, that Geralt would know a way out of this spell or something. Surely this was not the hardest challenge he’d ever faced? And they would deal with it, and then find their way forward to an even keel again.

_It’s surely not a harder thing…_

Jaskier had to tell him.

-

_The swallow skims without a thought as long as it is spring,_

_But the bee that flew when summer shone, in winter cannot sting._

-

Geralt was impossibly calm.

“Don’t you have anything to say?”

Jaskier was starting to panic. Geralt reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, and Jaskier fought with every inch of himself not to react.

“No one here is going to hunt you,” Geralt said, as earnestly as he’d ever said anything to Jaskier, making eye contact as firmly as he ever had with Jaskier.

But why would they… oh. Fuck.

“Oh gods. Oh! Oh I hadn’t even thought. Oh Oh Oh-” The panic was spilling over as he pulled away, eclipsing even his barely contained lust (he’d been hard from the moment he mounted the first of the steps leading further on up to Geralt’s room, and was fairly _twitching_ -)

“You-” Geralt looked surprised, “you didn’t think- If you… Jaskier.” He reached out as if to touch Jaskier again, and Jaskier flinched. Geralt’s face shut down, and Jaskier realized he’d hurt the man already.

He let the words spill over.

He admitted to his fears about making them uncomfortable, about the near-constant lust and growing obsession over them, over all of, them, his terror that he’d be unable to control himself, and the dizzying sickening way he was listing now, shaken, off his mooring with no understanding anymore of who he was, of what he might do. He poured it all out, gave it all up to Geralt, spilled guts and his fears and his confusion and his desperation.

“… and I don’t know why! If it’s a spell, I don’t know when I was cursed, it was so gradual, but this isn’t normal, Geralt! It isn’t me, I don’t want it to be me, I don’t, I’m not like this! I don’t want to be like this!”

“Jaskier, it’s not a spell.”

“Well it’s not normal!”

“Jaskier.” Jaskier was hugging himself, desperately, where he sat on the end of Geralt’s bed, Geralt sitting on the other corner, holding his own hands, holding them back? “Jaskier, You’re an incubus.”

Jaskier was still.

“No? I’m not?”

Geralt raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. You are, in part. I can smell it.”

Jask opened and closed his mouth.

“You can smell…”

Geralt nodded.

“For… for how long? Have you… have you always thought…”

“Since we met. I suspected you had hybrid blood, of some sort. Incubi, Succubi, not that uncommon. You never trusted me with that information, and you had it under control, so I never brought it up.” His face was opening up a little. “You didn’t know?”

“No! I didn’t!”

Geralt looked pensive.

“I… I have always had a high drive, as you well know. But I don’t have, my father isn’t… and my mother… I don’t think she was… But it’s never… Geralt, it has _never_ been like this.”

“Most likely it’s a distant relative, and most likely an infidelity.”

“I’m a bastard?”

Geralt smiled just a little.

“Well-”

Jaskier hissed.

“You know what I-”

Geralt nodded.

“It may not even be that close a connection. It happens sometimes that when there is a little of the blood far up two separate family lines, it can combine in a child and manifest fully, where it did not in parents or grandparents.”

Jaskier… Jaskier _believed_ him.

“Okay. Okay, I’m… I’m part incubus. So, so it _is_ … magical lust?”

Geralt cocked his head. Jaskier did not like the look of pity slowly emerging on his friend’s face.

“You have likely been feeding, small amounts, instinctively, from your… encounters. For years.” Geralt frowned a little. “Do your partners usually fall asleep after?”

Jaskier found himself blushing. He and Geralt had never, in all this time, really talked about this kind of thing. And thinking about past partners had him again aware that he _still_ had not gone soft, even during the panic of the last few minutes.

“Ah, yes? Most of the time? But isn’t that normal? For, uh humans? I think?”

Jaskier bit his lip, fighting not to wriggle around, or adjust himself.

“So what do we do? A spell? An, an amulet or something?”

Geralt furrowed his brow.

“Spell. Amulet. Ritual? What do we do next to make sure I don’t… f- _feed_ on anyone?”

“Jaskier…”

Jaskier didn’t have the brain power for games.

“There has to be something! I can’t, Geralt, I _can't_ continue like this. I’m going to… something is going to give!”

“You need to feed,” Geralt agreed.

“But the passes are closed! I can’t just go find a willing prostitute…”

“It wouldn’t be safe for a human anyway.”

“Bullshit.” Jaskier was suddenly angry. Why was Geralt not helping?! “I’ve slept with humans!!! Most of the people I’ve ever slept with have been human!”

“Yes, but-” and then Geralt’s brain seemed to catch up, “… most??”

“Nevermind!” There wasn’t, he didn’t have _time_ \- “The point! I’ve never hurt anyone! I’ve never… everyone has always been- !”

“You’ve never been this hungry. Have you?”

And Geralt had such a look of pity.

And yeah. He was right.

But if he couldn’t… Jaskier was almost in tears in a moment, the hunger overtaking him, and that was exactly what it was. Now that he let himself think about it in those terms, that’s absolutely what it felt like, like being days without a meal, trapped up here where there wasn’t, where he couldn’t…. shaky and cold and desperate for anything, he’d take _anything_ , just please something to stave off…

“Can…” he licked his suddenly parched lips, “can I die of this?” And another thought, “What happens if it gets so bad I attack someone?” Geralt looked so sad, and Jaskier just knew. He. He _couldn't_ …

“Don’t.” He pleaded, all other thoughts leaving him with just this one, “Don’t do it, when the time comes. I don’t want you to have to kill me. Get Eskel or Lambert to. Or Vesemir. Just don’t do it yourself. I don’t want you to have to carry that.”

Geralt leaned suddenly towards him, and Jaskier flinched away, but Geralt followed the movement, grabbing him by both shoulders, forcing him to hold position, and Jaskier whimpered, traitorous _everything_ leaping for joy or lust or ruin at Geralt’s touch.

“No. You misunderstand.”

“Pretty sure I don’t,” Jaskier muttered bitterly, looking away.

“You do.” Geralt said firmly, still not letting go. “I know I would not be your first choice, but you aren’t lost, Jaskier. You don’t have to… I won’t let you get there.”

“What… “

“You can bed someone nonhuman. Any witcher. Would be able to survive.”

“Any…” wait... “witcher?”

“Yes.” And now Geralt was looking away again, “Lamb would, and Eskel has…”

“No.” No, Jaskier knew he had said... “ _Any_ witcher? And you think I wouldn’t want… “ How could he possibly…“Geralt. Do you not know I want you?”

Geralt stared blankly.

“Geralt, I absolutely would not want you to feel like… like you _had_ to, but if you’re suggesting fucking… fucking _Lambert_ or Vesemir-”

“I said Eskel.”

“ -because you think I wouldn’t, what, want you?” Geralt was looking pointedly at the ceiling, and his hands had relaxed at Jaskier’s shoulders.

“Geralt! Of course I want you.”

Geralt jerked back to looking at him.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

“ … okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

There was a long pause.

“Okay so what next.”

-

_When spring goes, and winter blows, my lass, an ye'll be fain,_

_For all your pride, to follow me, were't cross the stormy main._

-

Jask should have known, everything Geralt had done, having sex with a bard to save his life? Probably not that big a deal. When set next to… to killing misguided princesses, and werewolves who don’t know what they are and plead for their families before they die, and all the horrors… Some magic sex? Not the harder thing, as it were.

Probably not even as complicated as the shit he and Yen always had going on. (Had they ever had magic sex? Was this gonna be better than what she could normally give him? Jask hadn’t yet had a succubus to his own bed, and it wasn’t like he knew what to do with whatever magic he _did_ have going on, but the ones he’d spoken to while playing at The Fancy Fillie insisted that the magic made it better, every time. Was this going to ruin him for normal sex? Wait, had he _ever_ had normal sex??? Was.. Was his reputation a cheat and he didn’t know it?? Were his partners always so pleased from his magic alone? And maybe he secretly had no skill...)

Geralt happily chose that moment to return (he’d dashed off, simply telling Jaskier to wait, as if Jaskier was going to run around the keep dick-first or something when he didn’t have to), and he had several jugs and a basket of apples and cheese and dried meats and-

Jaskier didn’t care.

A wave of lust hit him, swamped him, Geralt was _there_ and they were going to _have sex_ and-

He grabbed Geralt the second he was in range and pulled him to the bed, upending the poor basket and he could hear one of the hopefully corked jugs rolling somewhere-

And they were kissing and Geralt’s mouth was so- and Geralt’s hands were like- and the warmth of Geralt’s body- and his thigh was between Jaskier’s and- !!!

Jaskier cried out as he came, but the lust didn’t abate one bit, and he desperately jerked at Geralt’s shirt, trying at once to pull it off him and push him back, turn over, press him into the bedding. Geralt laughed, _laughed_ , and captured Jaskiers flailing arms, pinning his wrists above his head with one hand. Jaskier let out a pitiful wail he was sure he’d be embarrassed about later, but Geralt was stripping them both, pulling his own shirt over his head, changing hands, tossing it, oh gods, so much skin, there was just so much of Geralt- Oh! Hand at his own trousers, and the press against his dick was /electrifying/ and Oh! There his legs were bare, and so were Geralt’s, and his shirt was tangled on his hands but their hips were flush and Jaskier whimpered and maybe came again, he wasn’t sure, he should be embarrassed but he couldn’t be, and Geralt released his hands and he thrashed and rolled them over.

He buried his face in Geralt's neck, breathed in the smell of him, shot a hand down past the glorious fur on his torso and grabbed their dicks. His hand barely closed on them both, but he didn’t care, it was _gorgeous_ oh oh- !

“Jaskier!”

Geralt had been saying his name for a while, maybe.

“Be easy, Jask, I just need to-”

And he was pulling _away_ , no no no-

“Easy, I just needed this, I just had to-” and Geralt had a little bottle and was uncorking it, and drinking from it, and tossing it away off the bed somewhere, and Jaskier. Did. Not. Care.

He _bit_ Geralt in retaliation, relishing the gasp, pulled him back into place and _ground down_ , wanting to be _felt_ , for Geralt to _submit_.

And Geralt did, came with a little noise Jaskier was _immediately_ addicted to, spurting all over their bodies, up, between them, and the scent was _amazing_. A wave of heat rolled over Jaskier, _warm warm warm_ he hadn’t _known_ he’d felt that cold, and he ducked his head and licked a little patch on Geralt’s chest and the flavor exploded through his senses and his mouth watered and he _had_ to _taste_ it _all_.

-

_And all the flowers in all the land, so brightly there they be,_

_And the snow, it melts the soonest when my true love is for me_.

-

Hours later, days later, a moment later.

Jaskier came back to himself.

He was sore, and covered in the salt of dried sweat, and felt. So good.

Geralt was laying next to him, and Jaskier was warm all the way through and felt sluggish with satiation.

He hummed in pleasure, and chased the little tune in the back of his mind.

“… woodcocks and martins…”

“Hmm?” Geralt vocalised, but didn’t open his eyes.

Jaskier spoke up a little.

“Woodcocks and martins. Spring birds. In this area. Right?”

“… yes?”

“Huh.”

The silence stretched a moment, and Jaskier waited it out.

“What,” Geralt finally rumbled.

“Oh, nothing…”

“Jaskier. _What._ ”

Jaskier giggled, delighted, and delighted to _feel_ delight.

“Just something you said around round three.”

Geralt sighed, and Jaskier felt a soaring in his chest at the feel of it.

“You wished we could continue until the woodcocks and martlets needed the tower again, you said.”

“… I did not.”

Jaskier grinned wide, overjoyed.

“Oh you absolutely did, my friend. You want to keep me in bed ‘til spring!”

“… hmm.”

Jask’s grin cooled a little, as a thought resurfaced. He turned on his side, propped himself up on one elbow, and looked down at Geralt.

“You… you do still want me, right? I mean, anyone can get carried away in the moment, and I of all people know just what a... bit of flowery language is. And isn’t. So, if it turns out that this was all just… magically inspired…” Jaskier trailed off.

“No.”

Jaskier waited for more… not long.

“No what? No you don’t-”

“Wasn’t the magic.” 

Jaskier searched his face, but Geralt’s eyes were still closed.

“… okay. Okay, but, now…?”

“I. Care about you.”

Jaskier held onto his patience by his fingernails.

“I care about you too, but that doesn’t mean you still will want me, now that you don’t have to save my life or whatever. You could regret the experience, if not the result, and going forward—” Jaskier jerked his traitorous mouth shut with a clack.

Geralt opened his eyes. Reached up. Cupped the side of his face. The witcher held his gaze for a single fiery moment, and then looked away, thumb petting at Jaskier’s cheek.

And Geralt whispered:

“The sun it beams down/ as my hands touch the grass,”

His thumb slid down a little further, drawing a line across Jaskier’s slightly parted lips.

“After summers of fasting/ I feel hunger at last,”

The hand dropped further, to the juncture of Jaskier’s shoulder and neck, thumb resting perfectly in the divot between Jaskier’s collarbones.

“The person 15-year-old me/ would be proud to have known.”

His hand felt like a brand.

“Geralt,” Jaskier was whispering too. “That is gorgeous. What is it?”

Geralt pulled his hand away, ducked his head, and looked down the bed.

“ _Jozef Bartosz_. Of Tyne.”

“Do you..?”

“I have a book of it.”

Jaskier was overcome.

“Oh, _Geralt_.”

“There’s musical notation with some of the pieces.”

Jaskier was beside himself with the little treasure, Geralt thinking of _and_ sharing such a… such a tender and vulnerable little piece.

“I meant to give it to you when we took to the path again, anyway.”

Geralt was already thinking of the path, thinking of giving him something rare and precious to enjoy on the road. To _take away_ from the keep. There was so much trust in that.

Maybe. Maybe he really did care for him.

And want him, Jaskier, thought, giving in to the urge to kiss the witcher again, and feeling Geralt respond in kind.

Maybe they both really, genuinely, wanted each other.

Maybe this, right here, on top of Geralt, in his arms, in his bed, warm from the company and the activity and the love. This was where he belonged.

All the country he’d crossed, and they’d crossed together, all the courts he’d played and partners he’d sought.

Maybe this was home.

-

With the stress sorted out, Jaskier happily settled into the new routine, chores, composition, reading, performance, cooking, eating… and an exploration of every bit of sexual feeling he was capable of at night. The long dark nights nearly flew, a blur of passion, and all too soon the snows indeed began to melt.

Jaskier found he was even sad, on the day Vesemir declared the pass clear enough to make the journey down.

Knowing it was coming, they were prepared, and left that very next day.

The path was even more challenging on a technical and terrain level on the way down, and Jaskier found himself well-occupied until they reached the valley at long last.

They were afoot at the last, some debris and fallen trees making it impossible to pass while riding. He thought perhaps they would all stay together in town, but Geralt shook his head.

“Vesemir will bring supplies and materials down in time, return what was borrowed, sell what was made or not needed. But we are normally more than ready to return to the path and be out of each other’s company for a while.”

“Oh. Well.”

He turned to the other two witchers, who were watching this exchange with some amusement.

“Well. It has been a… pleasure.”

“For someone,” Lambert said, leering.

“Ah. Yes. Well. Be well, both of you, until we meet again.”

“And you, two, as well. Bard.” Eskel said, friendly, with a small smile pulling up the smooth side of his mouth. “It was a more entertaining season than we’d counted on, including the music.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to retort.

“Peace, bard. You were fine company. Luck on the path.”

And with that, Eskel turned, mounted his horse in a single smooth movement, and rode northwest, Lambert following suit, due west, with a cocky wave a moment later.

“Well.” Geralt said.

Jaskier looked at his oft-taciturn friend with his own amusement. And no small amount of fondness.

“Alright. Let’s go find the path.”

And Jaskier climbed into Pegasus’ saddle, and Geralt likewise mounted Roach, and they set off, south, into the world again, following a little stream of snowmelt.

“Hmm hmmty tmm… oh never say me farewell, here, but kiss and take your leave…”

-

_Aye, the snows they melt the soonest, love, when the wind begins to sing_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my lil fic! I’ve had that Amazing devil line percolating for a while, --ever since I was assigned it in a follower milestone challenge last… June?? Lol-- The song that Jaskier is writing is “The Snow it Melts the Soonest”, which dates back to an 1882 minstrelsy (which claimed the original publication was in 1821, and written by Thomas Doubleday). It was popularized in the 60s and 70s (that is, 1960s and 70s) by Anne Briggs, and I first heard it on Sting’s 2009 "If on a winter’s night". The Longest Johns also have a nice version. Go check it out!  
> And to my recipient, again, apologies for my tardiness, but hopefully you enjoyed this and feel it was worth the wait!  
> Have good holidays, fine company, and stay warm (and inside) folks!
> 
> Full lyrics:
> 
> O, the snow it melts the soonest when the winds begin to sing;  
> And the corn it ripens fastest when the frosts are setting in;  
> And when a woman tells me that my face she'll soon forget,  
> Before we part, I wad a crown, she's fain to follow't yet.
> 
> The snow it melts the soonest when the wind begins to sing;  
> And the swallow skims without a thought as long as it is spring;  
> But when spring goes, and winter blows, my lass, an ye'll be fain,  
> For all your pride, to follow me, were't cross the stormy main.
> 
> O, the snow it melts the soonest when the wind begins to sing;  
> The bee that flew when summer shined, in winter cannot sting;  
> I've seen a woman's anger melt between the night and morn,  
> And it's surely not a harder thing to tame a woman's scorn.
> 
> [many version deviate somewhat from these 1800s lyrics, but Anne Briggs deviate significantly on the previous verse, instead singing:  
> Oh the snow it melts the soonest when the winds begin to sing  
> And the bee that flew when summer shone in winter he won't sing  
> And all the flowers in all the land so brightly there they be  
> And the snow it melts the soonest when my true love's for me  
> And then a return mostly to the ‘original’ lyrics]
> 
> O, never say me farewell here -no farewell I'll receive,  
> For you shall set me to the stile, and kiss and take your leave;  
> But I'll stay here till the woodcock comes, and the martlet takes his wing,  
> Since the snow aye melts the soonest, lass, when the wind begins to sing.
> 
> [(Click for a rebloggable Tumblr post of this with the pics)](https://ssleif.tumblr.com/post/639627217064869888/when-the-winds-begin-to-sing-by-ssleif-a-late)


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